In her cold eyes
by YAWritersOfPleasanton
Summary: A prompt, brought to you by the YAWritersClubOfPleasanton, to help all you writers out there get those brains athinkin'. A sure-fire way to ward off writers block.


**Prompt:**

His words, echoing through the still room, held no meaning to me; at least not anymore.

**Instructions: **

Here's how we kick it in Pleasanton: you read the prompt a couple of times, absorb its possible meanings and do one of the following:

Taking the prompt into account, you re-write it to fit whatever you want. Write in any genre of literature.

Use the prompt as a beginning, writing in any genre.

Slip the prompt in you writing somewhere, like the middle or the end, writing in any genre.

Write from His point of view in any genre

Switch roles so that it is Him not getting meaning out of the other person's words, in any genre.

Any other thing you can think of that I can't (I'm human, or I appear to be.) … In any genre that you can think of.

**Helpful hints:**

**Who** are the people, who were they? Are they going to be anybody special? What is their relation to one another?

**What **are they doing in the room? What are they thinking?What sort of people are they?

**When is** this taking place? When did they meet?

**Where **are they?

**Why **are they there? Why is he talking to her? Why isn't she listening?

It seems that it's all up to you…

**Example:**

**(THIS STORY IS NOTHING MORE THAN AN EXAMPLE! This story was written by a member of the YAWCOP. It's just an example of how she did it, not how you have to. We believe in borrowing and mixing whatever it is up so that it's your own special brand of writing, not blatant copying. )**

**BY E.B.**

His words, echoing through the still room, held no meaning to me; at least not anymore. I had been subjected to far too many lies, too many broken promises, too many spilled secrets to have even the tiniest fraction of his trust. Too many times I had laughed off the jokes and insults, wondering if he could hear the fakeness, the flat, lifeless tones, in my forced laughter. Why should I be made to suffer longer at my own expense? I turned my back on him. No need to pretend I hadn't heard.

Clumsy, impatient footsteps sending vibrations through the carpeted floor; a firm grasp on my arm, which I shook off smoothly in a gesture I had had plenty of time to perfect. Words finding their way into my ear. Struggling against the natural instinct to interpret and the acquired instinct to become immersed in the other mind, become saturated in meaning. No. With an equal gracefulness I pushed away the words and shut off my train of thought, cloaking my emotions in a dark veil. A second later, one word penetrated the gloom.

"Lissa..."

I spun around and stared into his pleading eyes. Almond-shaped, and the color of melted chocolate. Even the innocent gaze could not conceal the impatience, though, and I refused to be drawn in.

"This is all your fault, you know." I surprised myself by responding. How long had it been since I had last spoken? The various accents I had picked up at some time or other were mingling in a grating sort of way. I cleared my throat. "Don't act as if you're trying to help me, because I refuse to fall for any more tricks. I know what you want. And it only further precludes me from indulging you."

He smiled bitterly. "Ah, yes. You were never one to forgive, much less to forget."

I mimicked the smile. "You're right that I never forget. Not until I die will I be able to chase the memory of that single moment out of my head. And I will never forgive you for it. But it seems to me _you_ have forgotten that you cannot read my mind."

I strode over to the door and placed my hand on the pane of cool glass, but before I could push he was right there with his own hand upon the window, leaning casually against it with the faintest hint of a defiant smirk on his face.

"I could try," he said.

My thoughts in turmoil, I pushed aggressively on the glass. It gave me almost no satisfaction, however, to watch him, his hand now resting on empty air, as he toppled to the ground. I stepped quickly over him and walked briskly into the late afternoon air.


End file.
